


Let It Snow

by Shippershape



Series: Bellarke Brought to You by Tumblr [11]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:59:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippershape/pseuds/Shippershape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of all my wintery Bellarke one-shots. Tropes include mistletoe, moonshine, tobogganing and more. This is just a reorganization of stories I had previously posted separately. Stories that have been moved here include; Moonshine and Mistletoe, Baby it's Cold Outside, 12 Days of Clarkemas, Toboggan for Two and Maybe I'll be Your Merry Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moonshine and Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy's been drinking, Clarke isn't thinking, and there's about to be a whole lot of mistletoe inspired singing.

Everyone is drunk. It’s Christmas, after all, and their recent victory against Mount Weather is one they hadn’t yet celebrated. Monty has outdone himself, pushing what he’s calling eggnog on anyone who walks by. Really, it’s just moonshine distilled with some nutmeg, but no one seems to care. Clarke stands off to the side, watching the festivities with a happy glow. They’d lost two people in the fight, one being Harper, and it hurt in a way that has become familiar. They go on, just like they always do, and just for tonight they drink their sorrows away.

“Hey.” Bellamy sidles up to her, cheeks flushed. Clearly he’s been into the moonshine.

“Hey.” She smiles. When it was just the two of them responsible for the camp, they hadn’t really been able to have much fun. Now, even if only temporarily, the adults could handle things for a night. They’re free to indulge. And it looks like Bellamy is taking full advantage of that.

“What are you doing over here?” He asks, standing ridiculously close to her. She tells herself the blush that burns her cheeks is from the heat of the fire, and not his proximity.

 “Just watching.”

He turns towards the group, and she knows he understands. This is what makes it worth it, what they do, all the sacrifices they had made. As they watch, Octavia breaks off from the others and bounds toward them, something red in her hand.

“Hey, guys.” She grins up at both of them, clearly already past tipsy. Bellamy’s entire demeanor changes, that disapproving big brother frown making an appearance. Wanting to avoid an argument, especially tonight, Clarke tries to distract them.

“What’s that?” She asks, pointing to the red fabric in Octavia’s hand. Octavia looks down, like she’d forgotten.

“Oh!” She giggles, then tugs it onto Bellamy’s head. “It’s a Santa hat! Jasper made it.” For a moment, all Clarke can do is stare at Bellamy, the pointed red hat dangling ridiculously over his ear. Then she bursts out laughing, a full, unapologetic cackle that echoes through the trees. She hasn’t laughed like this in as long as she can remember. She tries to stop, sees the glare he’s giving her, but somehow that makes it even worse and soon she’s holding her side, howling with laughter. Octavia just giggles and flits away, like a fairy in the night. Bellamy continues to glare at her, but doesn’t remove the hat.

“I’m… sorry…” She manages, in between gasps. “You just… look so…” Then dissolves into laughter again. When her laughter dies down into a weak chuckle, she chances another look at him. The annoyance is gone, replaced by something she can’t quite put her finger on.

“You done?” He asks, dryly. She nods weakly. He’s looking at her, really looking, and she’s about to say something stupid when Monty pops up out of nowhere. He glances curiously at Bellamy before pointing upwards and smiling.

“Look.” Is all he says, and they do, and the laughter burbles up again when Clarke spots a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the trees above them.

“That wasn’t there before.” She says, amused but also accusing. Monty just smiles mischievously and heads back to the party.

“Well.” Bellamy says, grinning over at her, the tip of his hat flopped over in front of his face. “A rule’s a rule.” Clarke grins, and Bellamy leans over, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. He goes to pull away, but she catches his face in her hands, and deepens the kiss instead. His mouth opens in surprise, as she bites his bottom lip, and then he’s pressing her urgently against a tree. They’ve both had just enough to drink that it doesn’t matter that everyone can see them, it doesn’t matter that this is a line they’ve not been crossing for a reason, doesn’t matter that this changes things.

All that matters is that Bellamy’s hand is on her waist, and then it’s sliding down to cup her ass, and when Clarke moans his name into his mouth he answers it with a squeeze. But they haven’t had  _that_ much to drink, and when she can hear the roar of a crowd over the blood pounding in her ears she knows it’s time to pull away. She does so, regretfully, and as his hands fall away, so does the bubble, and it’s like the cheers coming from the bonfire have doubled in volume. Catcalls, and whistling, and where the hell did Jasper find a bongo?

Bellamy’s looking down at her, and in the reflection of the firelight all she can see in his eyes is black. That’s the moment when it catches up to them, that  _this changes everything_  feeling, and she’s surprised to find that it’s not a bad one. He cocks his head, studying her, then slides an arm around her waist.

“It’s too late to go back.” He whispers in her ear. He’s right.

Later that night, the singing starts. All it takes is Murphy singing one line, then the whole damn camp is full of it, the same song repeated over and over.

_I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus_

_Underneath the mistletoe last night…._


	2. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy get caught in a snow storm, and seek shelter in an abandoned farmhouse. They make it through the night with their usual combination of bickering and codependence.

“Clarke, get in here. Now!” Bellamy shouts, his voice almost lost in the howling wind. She hesitates outside of the battered farmhouse, looking doubtful.

“I don’t know…” He can’t hear her, but he can read her lips. Fed up, he marches back into the storm, grabbing her by the arm, and drags her into the house. Once inside, she yanks her arm from his grip, glaring at him.

“Glare at me all you want,” He mutters. “You would have frozen to death out there.” As if on cue, a particularly vicious gale of wind rattles the door on it’s hinges. Clarke just crosses her arms and continues to frown at him. Sighing, Bellamy turns and heads further into the house. It takes a moment, but he finally hears Clarke’s footsteps behind him.

“Where are you going?”

“To find some blankets, or a fireplace. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but that’s a blizzard out there.” She sniffs haughtily at him, and he rolls his eyes. He doesn’t know why, but she’s been in a bad mood all day, and it hasn’t exactly made their trip to scout a site for their new camp a fun one. “What crawled up your butt today?” He asks, continuing his search through what seems to have once been a linen closet.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been a total pain in my ass all day. I mean, even more than usual.” He adds, glancing back at her. When they first landed on the ground in that drop ship he had hated her. Then everything changed, and they’ve been through so much together that she’s the only person he really trusts anymore. She’s the closest friend he has. But right now, she’s getting on his nerves, and if he’s going to be stuck in here while they wait for this storm to die down he at least wants to know why.

“Finn.” Is all she says, but that’s really all he needs to know. He sighs again. Spacewalker. Things have been complicated ever since the shooting. Finn’s been walking around feeling sorry for himself while the rest of the camp ignores him, Clarke is the only one who will go anywhere near him, and it looks like she’s finally had enough of him now, too.

“Trouble in paradise?” He asks. He can’t help himself. He can practically feel her eyes boring holes in the back of his head.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“Because we’re all funny.” He grins sarcastically at her. “Now either help me look for some blankets or go see if there’s anything to eat.” At first this house seemed like a safe place to ride out the storm, but it’s just as cold in here as it is outside, and his stomach is grumbling angrily. They’ve gone days without food before, but he doesn’t feel like making the five-mile long trek back to Camp Jaha on an empty stomach. Clarke exits with a dramatic sigh and Bellamy chuckles to himself. Even while she’s like this, there’s no one he’d rather be stuck with. Except maybe Octavia.

He manages to find a couple old quilts that haven’t been too badly destroyed by moths, and sets off to find Clarke. The house is bigger than he first thought, and he suddenly realizes it’s probably been half an hour since he’s heard from her. Ignoring the frisson of nerves in his chest, he searches the house, his pace picking up to a jog after a few minutes. With her nowhere to be found, he starts to worry a little more.

“Clarke!” He shouts, standing in the kitchen. Where the hell can she have gone? The idea that maybe they aren’t actually alone in this house pops into his head, and the worry turns to something like panic. “Damnit, Clarke! Where are you?”  The answering scream turns his blood to ice, and he sprints toward the sound, finding a trap door hidden in the floor. He tosses the blankets aside and wrenches it open. “Clarke?” No answer. Swearing, he lowers himself into the blackness. He drops down, his feet hitting the floor after a second or two, and spots a faint beam of light. Practically racing towards it, he finds Clarke in the corner of what he can only describe as the creepiest cellar on earth. She’s squatting on the floor, her face in her hands. He closes the distance between them, grabbing her hands and tugging them away from her face.

“What the hell happened?” He asks, on edge. Half of him is still tensed for battle, waiting for a reaper to jump out at them from the shadows. She just shakes her head, and points to something behind him. He turns, and topples over sideways in surprise. His first instinct is jump in front of Clarke, to protect her, and then he realizes that the man towering over them is dead. “Jesus.” He mutters, turning back to Clarke. Whoever that was, he’s no longer a threat. Bellamy tries to stand, to walk over to inspect the body, but Clarke grabs his hand.

“Wait.” She says. “Just-just wait.” At first he doesn’t understand, this guy isn’t a threat, he’s dead, but then he notices that the hand that’s gripping his so tightly is shaking, and that realization sends a pang through his chest. He’s going soft, he thinks. But he stays anyways, sits down beside her, and winds his arm around her shoulders. They sit like that until she stops shaking, then he hauls her to her feet. There’s nothing to gain by sitting down here and staring at this corpse all night. He pushes her gently toward the trap door, giving her a boost. She climbs out, and maybe it’s not the most appropriate time, but he sure admires the view as she pulls herself back up into the kitchen. He has to jump to grab the ledge above him, but months of strenuous physical labour make the task of pulling himself up easy. Once he’s out, Clarke slams the hatch shut, with a little more force than is necessary.

“You scared the shit out of me.” He says. She looks embarrassed.

“Sorry. It was dark down there, I thought he was…”

“Alive?”

“Yeah.” She nods. Bellamy sits back on the floor, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Clarke looks over at the blankets. “You found some blankets.” He nods, still catching his breath. He doesn’t like the way he can’t think when she’s in danger, doesn’t like the way even a memory of her scream ties his stomach into knots. She’s under his skin now, he realizes. It’s a dangerous place to be.

“Okay.” He stands, holds out his hand and helps her up. “Let’s see if there’s anything to eat in this shithole.” They resume their search, but this time he doesn’t let her out of his sight. Every time she wanders too far it’s like a cold wind comes up behind him and he yells at her. She’s clearly starting to get annoyed, but he doesn’t really care. Whatever just happened, he’s not willing to go through it again. Eventually they find a pantry, but everything in it is a century old, and he’s not really sure what he was expecting. Clarke groans.

“There’s nothing viable here. Let’s just call it a night. One of us should go get some snow, we need water at least.” She heads toward the door, but Bellamy’s hand snakes out, clamping around her wrist.

“I don’t think so.” He tells her, pushing past her toward the door. “I’ll go.” Rolling her eyes, Clarke stalks off toward the living room. He hears her flop onto one of the ancient couches and smiles. Regardless of what people say about her, she’s never boring company. He heads out and grabs a few buckets of snow, the wind nearly blowing him over a couple of times. There hasn’t been a storm even close to this since they’ve been on the ground, and he can only hope it will last hours rather than days.

Later, they sit on opposite couches, huddled under piles of blankets. It’s impossible to tell with the sky being whited out, but Bellamy suspects it’s close to midnight. He watches her shiver for a few more minutes, then shuffles over to where she’s sitting, grabbing her blankets and pulling them away.

“What are you doing? I’m freezing!” She shouts at him, or something along those lines. He can barely make out what she’s saying over the chattering of her teeth.

“I know. Move over.” He commands, and though she glares at him, she slides over to make room. He sits beside her, pulling her tightly against him, then throws both sets of blankets over top. “Body heat, princess. There’s no point in us both freezing to death to protect your personal space.” She smacks him, but it’s so lacking in force that he glances down at her in concern. Her lips are starting to turn blue, he realizes, and her face is as white as the blizzard. “Jesus.” He grumbles. He’s beginning to think he swears more around her than anyone else, simply because he worries so damn much. She presses her face into the crook of his neck, and when those icy lips touch his skin he can’t help but let out a hiss. He thinks he can feel her smiling into his neck.

“I’m not with Finn.” She mutters into his neck. He wants to look at her, but he’s surprisingly comfortable exactly as they are, so instead he just frowns at the wall.

“Okay.” He had wondered about that, though he would never ask. Clarke was almost nearly always with him or the spacewalker, and he knows they have a history. It shouldn’t matter to him. Still, he’s glad. These days Finn is… unstable at best. Bellamy tells himself the only reason he’s glad they aren’t together is because he thinks she’s safer without Finn. Even in his own head it’s not convincing.

“Everyone thinks I am.”

“Well, that’s probably because your little love triangle was the best gossip in camp for weeks. You realize you started a trend right?” He can feel her starting to warm up. Now that they’re not so cold, her lips feel soft against his neck, and he tries to focus on something else.

“What do you mean?” Every time she speaks it distracts him, her mouth moving against his skin. This is strangely intimate, he realizes.

“I mean kids were sneaking off to your little love bunker for days until I got someone to stand guard over there.” Clarke snorts.

“I guess it was the only privacy they could get.” She mused. “It’s kind of distracting when you know someone could barge into your tent at any minute.” She yawns. “Kind of hot, though.” Bellamy’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t want to disturb her, so he doesn’t move his head.

“I really don’t need to hear about your sexual adventures with the spacewalker.” He says, annoyed.

“Mmm, no that wasn’t with Finn.” She murmurs sleepily. This is news to Bellamy. He’s never heard of her being with anyone else from the camp.

“What, who-”

“Miller.” She cuts him off, anticipating his question. He jumps up beside her, cracking his head on the low ceiling.

“What?!” He asks angrily, rubbing his head. He’s actually not sure what hurts more, the bump on his head or the idea of Clarke hooking up with his right hand man. It’s none of my business, he remembers. Like hell it’s not, though.

“Not that it’s any of your business.” Clarke says, echoing his thoughts. She’s staring at him like she can’t quite figure him out. Patting the couch beside her, she sighs. “Bellamy, get back over here. You’re letting all the warm air out.” He does so, reluctantly. Getting the sense that she’s tired, he stretches out on the couch, resting his head on the armrest. She does the same, so her full length is pressed into his front. Intimate, he thinks again. Then he thinks of Miller. Imagines stringing him up by the toenails. Clarke probably wouldn’t go for that.

They fall asleep like that, pressed together and just warm enough.

Bellamy wakes up to a face full of blonde hair.

“Wh-” He reaches up to brush it out of his face. This isn’t the first time he’s woken up like this, limbs tangled with some girl, morning wood pressing insistently into her back. It is the first time its happened fully clothed, though, and he’s momentarily puzzled by that. Then he catches sight of the window, and the walls, and oh this is not just any girl I’m poking with my hard on. For a moment, he doesn’t really know what to do. Clarke looks so peaceful in sleep, and the truth is she could probably use it. If he gets up, if he moves, they’re so tightly wound together there’s no way she won’t wake up. Sighing, he tries to shift just enough to… redirect the problem. She stirs beside him, rolls over to blink at him.

“Hey.” She says. He smiles.

“Good morning.” She smiles back, and he aches a little bit at how natural this feels, waking up together, her sleepy face blinking up at him. He’s well past the point of denial, he realizes. He’s fallen for her, hard.

“The snow stopped.” She observes, and he glances out the window to see that she’s right. The sky is clear, and although it looks like they’ll be trekking through a foot of snow, this is as good as it’s going to get. He sighs.

“We should head out.” She nods, and sits up beside him, her hair falling down around her shoulders. He’s staring, he realizes, and looks away.

“I’ll give you a minute.” Clarke offers, a knowing smile on her lips. All that does is remind him that he’s not the first guy she’s ever woken up with, and that alone is enough to kill his wood.

“I’m fine.” He mutters. They collect their things, finish what’s left of the water, and head out. It’s beautiful outside, but it’s blinding. Snow covers everything, and all he can see is white.

“Let’s go.” Clarke says, looking like she isn’t at all excited for the hike ahead of them. He knows just how she feels.

“Clarke,” He begins, as they head out. “How do you feel about hanging someone by their toenails? You know, morally?” She shoots him a dry look. “What?”

“Bellamy,” She says, squinting at him. “No. Leave Miller alone.” He gapes up at her.

“How’d you know-”

“Because I know you.” She smiles. Hesitates. “And I know the other thing too.” He’s lost then, for a moment, because she could be talking about a million things, but then she looks back at him, eyes soft and warm, and he knows.

“Oh.” He croaks, mouth suddenly dry.

“And Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“Me too.”


	3. 12 Days Of Clarkemas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off the prompt: Secret Santa (Okay I took a few liberties, this is basically a story about Bellamy being totally whipped and making Clarke presents and Clarke wondering why on earth anyone in camp would think she wants a collection of wooden birds)

Clarke was sitting in her tent, updating her map, the first time it happened. There was a soft thud from behind her. Glancing at the door, she noticed a small package laying on the ground. Frowning, she walked over to pick it up. It was crudely wrapped in burlap, and when she tugged at the string that had been tied neatly into a bow, the material fell away to reveal a small wooden carving. It’s base was a branch that had been stripped of bark, two small figures had been added. The first was a tiny bird, perched atop the branch, and the second was a pear, hanging beneath it. Both were carved beautifully from a darker wood.

Puzzled, Clarke stuck her head out the flap of her tent, but there was no one around. It was a beautiful piece, but she couldn’t imagine who would have made it for her. Shrugging, she set it down beside the map, and got back to work.

The next night, she shuffled into her tent, barely making it to the bed before collapsing onto it, face first. She was completely exhausted from patrolling with the guard all night, and wanted nothing more than to sleep until the sun came up. She was halfway into a dream when she heard it. A soft thud, just like the night before. Shooting to her feet, she dashed to the door, but once again the area around her was deserted. Clarke retreated, grabbing the package from the floor and sitting on her bed to open it. It was wrapped the same way as the first one, and turned out to be a carving as well. This one was two birds, nothing else. She admired the detail while wondering who had the time to put this kind of work into a gift. Especially an anonymous one. Her mind momentarily flitted to Finn, and the animals he folded out of pieces of scrap metal, but these were different. He had never shown any ability in woodcarving, that she knew of, and besides that they weren’t exactly on good terms at the moment. She dismissed the idea. Setting the new birds next to the first branch, Clarke fell asleep and forgot all about them.

She woke up to find another package beside her bed. Despite being a little uncomfortable at the idea that someone had snuck into her tent while she slept, she tugged at the wrapping curiously. Three more carvings, each identical, tumbled onto her blanket. She picked one up, and immediately recognized it as a chicken.

“What the hell?” She wondered why anyone would think she wanted a collection of wooden birds. They were set next to the others, and Clarke spared them one last questioning glance before heading out to join morning patrol.

Later that night she was sitting at the fire, talking to Octavia, when she decided to bring up the gifts. She explained the way they’d come in the night, tossed into her tent with no note. Octavia lit up at the mention of something that didn’t involve death or war. She leaned in curiously.

“What was in them?”

“These wooden carvings. A bunch of little birds. Weird right?” Clarke asked, expecting Octavia to agree. Instead, the younger girl looked amused. “What?”

“Nothing.” Octavia said, too quickly. Clarke frowned.

“Do you know who they’re from?”

“No.” Octavia shook her head. “No clue. I wish I was getting gifts from a secret admirer though.” She smiled wistfully. Clarke rolled her eyes.

“What am I going to do with them? It’s not like my tent has a lot of space for decorating.” Clarke sighed. Octavia stood up, and Clarke glanced up, surprised. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to do something. I’ll see you later.” Octavia said, before turning and practically sprinting away. Clarke just shook her head. She didn’t really understand Octavia sometimes, but given the younger girl’s history it was a wonder she was as well-adjusted as she was.

The next day passed uneventfully, and by the time Clarke fell asleep there had still been no deliveries. Good, she thought.

And it wasn’t like she was disappointed the next morning either, when she woke to find nothing new. She wasn’t expecting anymore gifts, or at least so she told herself. But she ran her fingers over one of the carvings wistfully before leaving the tent.

It was later in the evening when they showed up. Two more packages greeted her when she pushed open the flap to her tent. The first was more carvings, five more birds. Sighing, Clarke placed them on the desk, which was running out of room. The second parcel jingled when she picked it up, and when she opened it, instead of wood carvings, five small rings fell into her hand. They were gold, in color but not in construction. It looked like someone had painted them. Frowning, she slipped one onto the middle finger of her right hand. It fit, and she looped the other four on the string that had come with the wrapping, tying it to a loop of ripped fabric that hung from the ceiling.

Still pondering the appearance of the rings, Clarke fell asleep, and dreamt of a Christmas song she couldn’t remember the words to.

The next three days saw a return to the one a day pattern, each gift arriving in her tent sometime during the day. They turned out to be, in order; six more birds the first day, then seven the next, followed by eight tiny women and eight tiny cows. The most recent batch, the women and cows, were even painted, and Clarke wondered not for the first time who had the time to make these. Every day there was one additional item, and they were all skillfully done. She couldn’t remember anyone of the 100 having a predilection for wood carving, but she couldn’t really imagine anyone from Camp Jaha knowing or liking her well enough to go to all the effort.

Clarke was working in the med bay when Bellamy came in. There was a cloth wrapped around his hand, and it was soaked in blood. She stood up so quickly her chair tipped over behind her, the noise echoing around the small metallic space. He gave her a look as he approached her, one that said Don’t start, one that she had seen a hundred times before. Still, she frowned as she unwrapped his hand, sighing when she saw the gash running across his palm. He sat on the cot, staring off into space.

“Bellamy-”

“Don’t start, Clarke.” He warned her, out loud this time. She reached silently for the needle, stabbing it into his hand with a little more force than was necessary. He winced.

“What’d you do?” She asked, with a neutrality she didn’t feel.

“I just cut it shaving.”

“Shaving?” She ran a finger across the day old stubble on his jaw.

“Obviously I didn’t get very far.”

“Mhmm.” She tied off the string, cutting it, and got to her feet. “Okay, you’re good. I would say try not to use that hand for the next couple of days, but it’s not like you would listen to me.” She turned away, hearing the floor creak as Bellamy stood.

“Thanks.” He muttered, and then his footsteps faded away. Ignoring the knot that formed in her stomach every time Bellamy walked into the med bay injured, Clarke turned back to the medicine she was organizing.

The ninth day was nine more women, twisted into shapes that Clarke could only assume meant they were dancing. The tenth brought a similar set, only they were men, with one more piece. Clarke had salvaged a crude set of shelves from the med bay, and they were now covered in the figurines.

On the eleventh day, Octavia showed up at her tent to see the carvings for herself. She laughed delightedly upon seeing them, picking one up with some familiarity.

“These are great.” She murmured, looking through them. “Someone must really like you.” Clarke shrugged.

“I guess. Anyone who knew me probably wouldn’t have bothered with all this. I just don’t understand the point.” Octavia looked over at Clarke incredulously.

“Wait, do you actually not get it?” She asked. Clarke shook her head. “Don’t you remember that old Christmas song? The twelve days of Christmas?” Suddenly a light bulb went off in Clarke’s head, and she had lyrics for the tune that had been stuck in her head for the past few days.

“Turtle doves, French hens, lords-a-leaping…” She murmured, running through the verses and scanning the carvings. “Golden rings.” She glanced down at the one she wore on her finger. “Ohhh.”

Beside her, Octavia smiled.

“That’s a lot of work for someone just to get your attention, you know. And there are only two days left. Do you think they’ll reveal themselves tomorrow?” She asked. Clarke shrugged.

“I have no idea.” She answered, but the idea of finding out who’d done all this brightened her mood a little. Her curiosity had been barely contained the past few days.

Later that night, Clarke was already in bed when she heard the telltale sound of a weight hitting the earth. She peeled back the covers, padding barefoot over to grab it. So far all the gifts since the rings had been more carvings, and this set was no different. Clarke pulled the first piece out, examining it. The shape was perfect, a pipe, and she suspected if she wanted to she could actually use it. There were ten more in the bag, and they went on the shelf next to the dancers.

“Eleven pipers piping.” She said to herself, yawning. The next day, if she wasn’t mistaken, were drummers. She fell asleep to images of little drummer boys with messy black hair and freckles.

The next morning Clarke swung by Octavia’s tent to show her the pipes, but Octavia wasn’t there. Knowing she’d be back any minute, Clarke waited inside. As she looked around, Clarke noticed a wooden chair that hadn’t been there before. Close up, she realized it was hand carved, the intricate designs on the back looking suspiciously familiar. She straightened up as she heard Octavia come in.

“Where did you get this?” She asked. Octavia blinked.

“Bellamy made it.” Clarke gaped at her. Realizing what she’d just said, Octavia grimaced. Clarke pushed past her, toward the door.

“Clarke, wait-”

“You knew the whole time?” Clarke demanded, more irritated than angry.

“It was obviously supposed to be a secret, I didn’t want to give him away…” Octavia trailed off looking guilty. Clarke sighed.

“It’s fine. At least now I know. I’ve gotta go.” She ducked out of the tent, making a beeline for the tent where her partner, and apparent secret santa, lived. She thrust through the flap without hesitation. The scene in front of her was not what she’d expected. Bellamy sat at the desk he’d made for himself, a knife in one hand. There were pieces of wood littering the desk, and shavings everywhere. He jumped up when he heard her enter.

“Clarke! I…” He stood in front of the desk, trying to block her view. For a moment Clarke was silent. Then she burst into laughter. The way he looked, eyes wide, wood chips in his hair, it was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. It was also one of the most ridiculous. She walked up to him, brushing the debris out of his hair. He stared down at her.

“Hey.” She said, smiling. He looked confused.

“Uh, hey.”

“Are those my drums?” She asked. Something clicked behind his eyes, and he deflated a little.

“You know.” He sounded disappointed.

“Octavia told me.” Clarke said. There was something about the moment, the realization that he had done all of this for her, that made Clarke’s heart skip in her chest. He was looking down at her, those big brown eyes so disappointed, and she couldn’t help herself. She stood on her toes, pressing her lips to his, softly. It was quick, and innocent, and when she drew away the surprise in his eyes matched the surprise that she felt. Taking a step back, she almost tripped over a blanket. His hand reached out, automatically, steadying her. Instead of letting go, he slid his hand up her arm, pulling her back in, pulling her up.

When he kissed her it wasn’t quick or innocent. It was heat and lust, and lingering. He smelled like wood, and earth, and sweat, and it was so familiar. He slid her jacket from her shoulders, and his fingers on her skin were electric, but his touch felt like home, and she lost herself in it. Clothes continued to drop to the ground, and soon she was standing in front of him naked, shivering from the cold but also from the way he was looking at her. She felt vulnerable, and safe, and when he pulled her back into his arms, lowering her onto the blankets, she just felt alive.

After, they lay in bed, only the sound of their breathing breaking the silence. Clarke sighed, resting her head against his chest. His arm wound around her waist, his thumb stroking her hip.

“I didn’t know you could carve like that.” She said, a little breathless still.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, princess.” He replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Clarke smirked.

“Like how ticklish you are?” She feathered her fingers across the spot on his neck she had discovered earlier. He shuddered, and glared at her.

“I hope you know that’s privileged information.” He warned. She snorted.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep it to myself.” She meant him, Clarke realized. She wanted to keep him to herself. It frightened her a little, knowing his history, but something about the way they fit together, even like this, even after, felt so natural she didn’t worry.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice a whisper in her ear. She shivered.

“I’m fine.” She rolled over, so her arms and chin were resting on his chest. “You should get back to work.” He raised an eyebrow at that.

“Well, okay, but you’re going to have to give me a minute.” Clarke smacked him.

“That’s not what I meant. I still want my twelve drummers drumming. I can’t have an incomplete set.” She smiled innocently up at him. Bellamy stared at her for a moment. Then he broke out in laughter, the vibrations going straight through her. He kissed her, one more time, then slid out of the blankets. Clarke didn’t look away, and when Bellamy glanced down to find her admiring him unapologetically she could swear she saw him blush. He snatched up his pants, shoving them on.

“See something you like?” He asked sarcastically. Clarke grinned.

“Oh, maybe.” She followed his lead, getting dressed, and was about to leave when he grabbed her hand. She looked over at him and realized he was staring at the ring.

“You actually wore it?” He sounded surprised. Clarke was kind of surprised he hadn’t noticed it earlier, actually, considering where her hands had been, but…

“Yeah.” She shrugged. It wasn’t as if there was an abundance of jewelry on earth, at least not in Camp Jaha. “I figured, someone went to all that effort. If I’d known it was you…” She trailed off, suddenly feeling silly.

“You’d have come here a week ago and the exact same thing would have happened.” Clarke laughed.

“Well there’s seven days of lost time to make up for then.” She said.

“More like a couple months.” He told her, bluntly. Clarke blinked. He leaned in, but she pressed a hand to his chest.

“Hey. I meant what I said. You finish those drummers and then you can come see me about sex.” She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, then nearly flounced out of his tent. She hadn’t been in such a good mood in years.

That night, back with Bellamy, back in bed (of course), Clarke stared at the wooden pieces covering nearly every surface in her tent. She had no use for them, and they would inevitably get lost if they moved, but there was something she couldn’t put her finger on that endeared them to her. Looking back at Bellamy, his face peaceful in sleep, she realized what it was. He had spent days making these for her, these stupid trinkets that she would never have wanted, could never use. She remembered the day he’d come into the med bay, his hand sliced open. This was his way of showing her he was serious, something she knew she would have questioned. His reputation preceded him, the endless revolving door of girls in and out of his tent. That had been a long time ago, Clarke realized, but it was suddenly fresh in her mind.

He’d done this for her, it wasn’t about the gifts, it was the gesture, the declaration. The words to the song whispered in her ear.

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…


	4. Toboggan For Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy is definitely not afraid to go sledding and Clarke is definitely not enjoying having her arms around him.

“This is a terrible idea.” Bellamy grumbles, peering down the snow covered hill dubiously.

“It’s fine. People need to unwind a little. You need to unwind a little.” Clarke tells him, watching Jasper and Monty go zooming past on their homemade toboggan. The air is full of whoops and joyful screams, and it’s the happiest sound she’s heard since they made it to the ground. She glances over at Bellamy, his shoulder stiff. “Unless you’re scared?” His head snaps around to glare at her.

“I’m not scared.” He mutters. She just raises her eyebrows.

“Prove it.” Clarke holds out the sled that Raven helped her make. It’s big enough for two. He frowns at her, and it’s hard not to notice the way snowflakes keep getting caught in his long eyelashes. She resists the urge to brush the snow from his hair. Finally, he grabs the sled from her, the look on his face like a man walking to the gallows. She swallows her laugh.

“Fine. But I’m going in the front. I don’t trust your driving.” She shrugs, and watches him set it down on the snow. Another fully loaded toboggan goes by, this one carrying Raven, Octavia and Wick. Bellamy stares after them, a mixture of incredulity and mistrust on his face. He glances back at her before folding himself into the sled. He pats the space behind him. “Hop on, princess.” She does so gladly, winding her arms tightly around him. He smells like home, and she presses her face into his back. She wiggles a little, using the momentum of her body to get them going, and Bellamy lets out a surprised noise when the sled starts to move.

They pick up speed, and Clarke tightens her grip, not wanting to fall off and drag her face through the snow. She lets out an exhilarated laugh, and they’re flying down the hill now. Bellamy has yet to make a sound, and she bunches the fabric of his jacket in her fists. After a few minutes, the hill levels off, and they slow to a stop. Clarke lets go of him, rolling off the sled and onto her stomach. She can’t remember the last time she had so much fun. Bellamy stands up, brushing the snow off his pants, his expression unreadable. 

"So?" She prompts. For a moment, he’s silent. Then his face cracks into a wide grin. 

"Want to go again?" He asks. Clarke jumps to her feet, pressing a wet kiss to his cheek.

"Absolutely. But you’re carrying that back up." She informs him, already starting the climb back up the mountain. She can hear him chuckling behind her, and suddenly there’s an arm around her legs, sending her sprawling into the snow. She rolls over to find Bellamy pinning her to the ground. He kisses her, slow and smoldering, and just as she reaches out to tangle her fingers in that unruly hair, he pulls away.

Breathless, she watches him walk away, admiring his ass as he makes his way up the slope. Never one to turn down a challenge, Clarke bolts after him, tackling him and sending them both flying into the powder. She straddles him, and leans down to finish what he started. Her lips crush onto his, fingers finally tangling in that messy black hair. He moans her name, and tries to sit up, to take control. Instead, Clarke pushes back to her feet with a laugh , taking off running up the path they carved with their sled.

The game continues, and by the time they make it back to the top of the hill, they’re both soaking wet and the sun is beginning to set. As they make their way back to camp, arms intertwined and grinning like idiots, Clarke leans in to whisper in his ear.

"See?" She asks, lips brushing his ear. He shivers. "I told you you needed to unwind."


	5. Maybe I'll Be Your Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the gang shares past Christmas stories, Bellamy admits to Clarke that he has no good memories of the holiday. She tries to convince him to give her a chance to change that.

“Stop beating yourself up.” A voice says softly, and Bellamy looks up. Clarke stands beside him, looking sad and tired. She looks like he feels.

“What do you mean?” He asks, though he knows what she means and he’s never been able to lie to her, not really. She sees right through him. Tonight is no different.

“I mean about Harper, and the others. We saved a lot of our friends, Bellamy. We saved more than I thought we would. Thirty-eight alive. You did good.” Her words remind him of another day, another battle. How do they keep ending up here?

He appreciates what she’s trying to do, but he can’t shake the image of Harper’s body when they found it, her skin so white, so cold. Her body had been torn apart, all the marrow drained like her life, her soul, was worth only that. He waits for the rage to come, but it doesn’t. He’s already taken his revenge on the people who had done that to her. He doesn’t have it in him to hold onto that anger. But the guilt remains.

“Yeah. We did good.” He forces a smile, and it’s weak but it’s genuine. She returns it, like she always does. Sometimes Bellamy thinks she’s his light down here. Other times he simply tries not to think of her so often. It rarely works. Clarke sits beside him on the log, letting the fire warm her. He forgets, sometimes, that she doesn’t just generate heat. He always feels warmer when she’s next to him. He looks up, watches Monty and Jasper deep in conversation, something close to laughter in their eyes. He misses that. Misses hearing laughter around the camp.

“It’s Christmas tomorrow.” Clarke tells him. He knows, but he doesn’t really care. What does Christmas mean when you’ve seen two thirds of your people struck down in the months leading up to it? What could he give to a tradition that celebrates the birth of a god he no longer believes in?

“Yeah.” He just sighs heavily. Monty looks over at them thoughtfully.

“A couple years ago I tried to grow a Christmas tree.” He says. Clarke and Bellamy stare at him.

“What?”

“Yeah.” Jasper pipes in. “I rigged a little greenhouse thing to start the sapling in, Monty actually got it to about two feet before someone found out and confiscated it.” He looks rueful. Personal plants weren’t allowed simply because water was in short supply, and so was space. There was nowhere for fully grown trees to go, and floating them would mean floating years of water and nutrients. Clarke also suspects that wasn’t the only plant her friends ever had confiscated.

“It smelled great, I named it Hugo.” Monty says wistfully. Clarke laughs.

“We made a Christmas tree once.” Bellamy turns to look at her. “My dad took some scrap metal and built a kind of frame in the shape of a tree. It ended up falling over and crushing me.” She pushes her hair off her forehead and points to a scar there. “That’s how I got this.” He continues to stare at her, and Clarke awkwardly lets her hair fall back into place. “What?” She finally asks.

“Nothing.” He tries to hide a smile, and fails. “It’s just hard to imagine our brave princess being taken down by a Christmas tree.” She smacks him.

The next hour passes with them swapping stories. Though Christmas on the ark wasn’t a big thing, it turns out more families celebrated than Bellamy had realized. He listens to his friends, and tries to stir up a memory, a good one, to share. He can’t. His Christmases were filled with drunk men locking themselves in his mother’s bedroom, of Octavia crying through the floorboards at night, of him laying in bed and wishing that for once, the universe would take pity on him. So he stays quiet, listening, imagining what it would be like to feel safe and loved and protected like that.

Slowly, their friends head off to bed, and then it’s just the two of them. It seems that lately, Clarke has been his constant companion. Ever since the final fight at Mount Weather, the two have been inseparable. It wasn’t a conscious thing, he just found himself drawn to her side, and it was difficult to leave her. Her presence was enough, to comfort him, to keep his demons at bay. She hadn’t sent him away, yet anyway, so he continued to linger where she was. He lingered now, soaking in the heat of her proximity, and the fire. For the first time in a long time, he was warm.

“You’ve been quiet.” She says. It’s not really a question, but it’s an offer, and he takes it.

“I don’t have a lot of happy memories of Christmas.” He pauses. “Actually I just don’t really have a lot of happy memories.” He feels a hand on his thigh, looks down at it. Her fingers are so small, but strong. He knows this because they’ve put him, and dozens of others, back together. Over and over again. At this point he figures Clarke has rebuilt him from head to toe. For some reason this cheers him.

“The ark was… it wasn’t a safe place for everyone.” She acknowledges. He should have known she would understand. Even though he suspected it had been a safe place for her for most of her life, she’d lost her father, and her freedom, to the politics in the sky.

“I don’t really know if any place is safe anymore.” He says, the words falling like rocks off his tongue. It was true, they weren’t safe here. But there was no safer place either, so he kept his mouth shut. Until now. He half expects the light in her eyes to go out, is ready to curse himself for bringing her down, but she just sighs lightly.

“Safety isn’t a tangible thing, Bellamy. It’s a feeling.” She looks at him, really looks at him, and he tries not to get lost in those blue eyes. “Do you feel safe right now?” She asks.

“Yes.” The answer surprises him. It surprises her as well, from the look on her face. “Do you?” She purses her lips, thinking.

“Yes.” He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know what it is, but in that moment he realizes the truth of his words. And hers. He feels safe simply because she’s there. They aren’t really, he knows that. The grounders could rescind their truce at any moment, come charging through the trees. But for now, he’s not worried. He feels almost… content. They sit in silence for a little longer, Bellamy delaying the inevitable parting when they head off to bed.

“It’s getting late.” He finally says. Clarke is only staying because he’s there, he knows, and he’s been selfish long enough. She needs her rest. They stand, and walk back toward their tents. When Clarke had gotten back she had set up her tent right next to his, without a moment’s hesitation. It was purely a strategic move, he’s sure, but he can’t deny that’s exactly where he wants her for other reasons. So he doesn’t have to worry, so he can be near her in case they need to make a quick getaway. So he knows she’s there, at night, when he wakes up from his nightmares soaked in sweat and ghosts.

They say a quiet goodnight, and duck into their respective tents. Bellamy lays in bed for ages, thinking about Christmas. Thinking about Clarke. Sighing, he rolls over, and shoots up in bed when he spots a pair of eyes in the entrance of his tent.

“Sorry.” Clarke murmurs, creeping into the tent and letting the flap fall closed behind her. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She’s wearing just a t-shirt and some sweatpants, and Bellamy can see from where he sits that she’s shivering.

“Come here.” He commands her, throwing back the blankets. She crawls in without hesitation. When her frozen foot presses against his calf he lets out a muffled shriek. She throws a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, and shoots him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“You’re freezing.” He mutters, pulling the blankets up around her chin. This tugs them off of his chest, and for a moment her eyes fall on his bare torso. If the look on her face is admiring, Bellamy decides he must be imagining it. Clarke is impervious to things like that, he thinks. She’s impervious to him. “How long have you been standing out there?”

“Not long.” She says quickly. Bellamy doesn’t believe her. “I just wanted to tell you something.” He waits. “I know historically, Christmas on the ark sucked. But I thought maybe this year, we should try to make it better. Start a new tradition. Give Christmas a second chance and celebrate our second chance down here.”

“You want to celebrate Christmas?” He asks. He hears what she’s saying, and it makes sense, it does, but all he can think about are the years of misery and disappointment in the holiday.

“I want to celebrate us, Bellamy. I want to celebrate what we’ve done. What you’ve done.” She pokes him in the chest, and he doesn’t really know what to say. What he wants to do, is list all of the dangerous, reckless things he’s done, all the people he’s gotten killed. But Clarke never lets him get away with saying things like that, so he doesn’t really anymore. Instead he shrugs.

“Okay, princess. If you want Christmas, you got it.” He means that, really he would do anything she asked him to, and this is a pretty easy one. He expects her to get up, to say he won’t regret it, to say goodnight and leave, but she doesn’t. Instead, she snuggles deeper into his blankets, laying down beside him. He hesitates, but just for a moment, then settles back in beside her. Her hand moves beneath the blanket, brushing his stomach, and he hisses. “Jesus, you’re cold.” He grabs the hand between both of his rubbing them together to warm her up. Even in the dark, he can see her smile.

“Thanks.” She says, her voice already heavy with sleep. He can still feel her shivering beside him, and makes a decision. He rolls over, and throws and arm around her, spooning her. He winces at how cold she is, but she slowly begins to warm up, and makes a soft noise of content when he pulls her flush against him. “You’re so warm.” She murmurs, and she’s gone, he can hear it in her voice. It’s his turn to smile.

“Goodnight, princess.”

“Night, Bmy.” She slurs. He laughs silently, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. If she wants Christmas, he decides, he’s going to give her one she’ll never forget.


End file.
